


Deep in the Night

by Talullah



Category: Il nome della rosa | The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose (1986)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are secret desires hiding deep in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> For Larien Elengasse.
> 
> Apart from being my geekiest effort to the day, it's a PWP, and, frankly, this is stretching the book and the characters to their breaking point, but I enjoyed it. *g* I realise the improbability of a hardened atheist existing under these circumstances, but the so called Dark Ages were more rich than we commonly give them credit to be and this would have taken place close to the Renaissance, where very different views on religion, society and homosexuality co-existed, though tempered in most cases by a healthy fear of the Holy Office.
> 
> "Redime me, et miserere mei" is from the Latin Liturgy and it means "Forgive me and have pity on me."
> 
> A special 'thank you' goes to Lady Hawk's Shadow for betaing this piece and for the lovely LJ 'talks' about this book and its possibilities she had with me and Larien. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Somewhere on the Apennines  
Late November, 1327 a.C.**

 

Venantius stood in the shadows watching the cold, dark courtyard. The sky was completely covered with thick clouds, hiding any stars, smothering any light. The air was so cold that his breath formed clouds in front of him and he had stopped feeling his toes a while back. It would snow soon and he longed to see the pristine blanket before the abbey life trampled it, tainted it unto an unrecognizable sludge.

His vigil had begun long before this night and it had lasted for a small eternity. He had watched Adelmo's beauty blossoming as he emerged from boyhood, warming the scriptorium with his contagious smile. The boy had an irrepressible sense of humour but he was a kind soul. His kindness dulled the sharpness of the pictures he drew, many times inspired by the less comely aspects of those around him and no one blamed him for using their flaws; they would rather join him in the laughter. His observations were a mix of sagacity and ingenuity and to Venantius it all seemed to blend into a radiant halo that involved the boy at all moments.

But he also watched Berengar watching. He knew they both wanted the same; a taste of the boy and he wondered about his own feelings. He could see the lowest of lust shinning in Berengar's eyes and it inspired in him such repulsion that he could hardly hide the spite he devoted to the assistant librarian.

To keep appearances and to avoid drawing Adelmo's hostility and the attentions of the other brothers, he had kept silent. In spite of his efforts, recurrent images of Berengar's hands touching the boy's face or his white body plagued his mind and thus he had set himself to befriend Adelmo, hoping to keep him from an excessive proximity with Berengar.

They were the same age, Berengar and Adelmo, and they had been novices together, but in Venantius's mind no two beings could be more different. The purity of Adelmo was the closest he knew to the good and kindness described in the books but never seen in his life, while the short, fat, concupiscent Berengar was foul and disgusting, suggesting something of down below, if there was indeed a down below. Venantius knew, however, that Adelmo's innocence did not allow him to see Berengar as he did: to him the assistant was just a poor, lonely figure, someone worth his pity.

Adelmo's good nature and the condescending feelings he devoted to Berengar did not make the two close friends, however. To Venantius's relief their rapport was merely friendly, sometimes even impersonal, though in the last few weeks, he had noticed that Adelmo had often held small, private talks with Berengar. Fearing that Berengar might have finally found some way to approach Adelmo, Venantius drew closer to the younger monk, spending more time appreciating and commenting on Adelmo's humorous illustrations, proposing him some of his own translation work for illustrations.

Soon, Adelmo told him his little secret: there was a copy of the second book of Aristotle's Poetics somewhere in the library. Berengar knew where to find, but had immediately told him that the venerable Jorge would never allow the free circulation of that particular work. Ever since, Adelmo had been trying to convince Berengar to lend him the book in vain.

Venantius was as shocked as he was thrilled: that was a mythical work, a lost relic. Who better than him to help the young Adelmo read it? On one hand, he feared Berengar would denounce Adelmo or worse: he was reputed to blackmail others for favours of the lowest nature. But on the other hand, it might be worth the risk. Maybe Berengar would be satisfied with a few smiles from Adelmo and what joyous hours they would spend delighting in such a treasure for such a small fee. Venantius found this last reasoning repulsive, it was little more than whoring the purest person he knew, but he could never fully erase it from his mind.

In the next few weeks Venantius had watched as Adelmo became more and more obsessed with the book. He could not determine if he should call it falling in love or falling in lust, but it was obvious that Adelmo had lost himself to the book, or to the idea of conquering its intangibility; maybe even to the thought of travelling, enjoying a little adventure in a world open only through the mind.

Despite his curiosity, despite his love for Aristotle, and even despite his lust for knowledge and his appreciation for laughter, Venantius had slowly started to hate the book with the same intensity that Adelmo loved it. It was then that he understood: he was jealous of Adelmo's love for the book.

As Adelmo's obsession grew, Venantius strove to remain by his side, but soon he realised that his friend had devised a plan of his own. He had watched and watched and now he knew that Adelmo had achieved his goal: he had read the book, but the price had been something he yearned to shut out of his mind, though unwanted images flashed in his eyes, tormenting him with their vileness.

From the shadows of the corridor he had seen Benno snooping and then his worst fear come true: Adelmo entering Berengar's cell deep in the night. He had stayed in the shadows only long enough for Benno to retreat to his lair - some things he did not care to witness. He should have gone immediately to his cell and forgotten all about this sordid event but he could not. There were things running loose inside him, feelings he had known few times. Such anger. He could see himself kicking Berengar on the floor till the foul thing spit blood. He wanted to slap Adelmo over and over for having yielded thus. He wanted to rip the book apart in the tiniest fragments possible and then burn them all. And he wanted to curl down in some tiny, dark place and cry.

He ran to the courtyard instead and walked in circles, trying to dissipate that overwhelming feeling of disappointment and fear. Yes, he feared that many things would come of this corruption.

After some time, he heard hasty steps approaching. Fearing it was one of his superiors, he merged with the shadows but it was Adelmo. In the almost complete darkness any light caught in a pale surface shimmered and he could see clearly Adelmo's distraught expression. For an instant he felt glad that Adelmo was already experiencing remorse, anguish, but the care he felt for the youth lead him to follow him into the church.

Inside, a few olive oil lamps provided some light, but hardly enough to allow him to locate Adelmo. He felt tempted to call out to him, but decided to search for him instead. Taking the closest lamp, Venantius advanced slowly, looking at the stalls. He found Adelmo in the front row, in a place that was not his own, kneeling, praying and sobbing. Venantius stood behind him, watching silently while he abjectly asked for God's forgiveness, "Redime me, et miserere mei," slipping through his lips in a barely distinguishable murmur. Venantius felt his heart shrinking in his chest. Poor child had not measured the consequences of his acts.

He drew nearer. Adelmo was so absorbed in his pain and regret that he did not notice his presence until a hand fell on his shoulder. Venantius knelt beside him and held him close even as Adelmo tried to draw away from him. "Do not be afraid, it is only me," he said tenderly.

Adelmo leant in his shoulder and started to sob convulsively, all the while repeating, "You do not know, you do not."

"Shh, I do, I do, I know it all," Venantius told him, holding him tightly to his chest and stroking his back, trying to soothe him.

"You do not understand," Adelmo sobbed.

"Make me," Venantius pleaded softly.

Adelmo shook his head violently and sobbed louder some incomprehensible words.

Venantius insisted, "Please, Adelmo. Have you not always trusted me?"

"I liked it," he said in such a low voice that Venantius almost miss it. Adelmo curled further into himself, sobbing uncontrollably inside Venantius's arms.

Venantius felt the whispered words as a blow to his heart. "Do you love him?" he asked in fear of the response.

Adelmo looked up in surprise as if the thought had never occurred to him. "No, I do not even have that excuse," he mumbled, lowering his eyes.

A sigh of the deepest relief escaped Venantius's lips. He could bear the thought that Adelmo had tainted himself with Berengar for the lust of the book, but anything else was too painful.

He kissed Adelmo's hair and whispered again, "Shh," while rocking him as if he were a child, his hands running up and down his back.

Slowly Adelmo's sobbing came to a halt. "How can you still stand touching me?" he asked.

Venantius knew the answer all too well but how could he tell it to Adelmo? How could he say, "The very thing which you classify as a disgusting sin is what I most want from you"? How could he say, "You are the most perfect thing I ever saw," or that simpler thing, "I love you."? Admitting to any of these would make a mockery out of their friendship and Adelmo's repulsion would certainly encompass him too.

He held his breath for so long, frantically turning answer after answer in his head until he felt Adelmo looking up to him.

"You feel pity, is it not so? You were always kind to me."

The undeserved compliment touched Venantius conscience. He would not let a lie linger between them; nothing worse than what had happened could come. "No, not pity. Love." Before Adelmo could reply he lowered his lips upon his and kissed him softly. No traces of Berengar were left; perhaps he had not even touched Adelmo's lips, Venantius hoped.

Adelmo drew back as if stung. "How can you say that, how can you feel that?" he asked, appalled.

"I am so sorry, Adelmo. Please forgive me, I did not mean to impose or take advantage." Venantius was consternated. For an instant of madness he had thought that Adelmo could want more of him, but no.

And then Adelmo continued, "I am disgusting, an aberration. How can someone like you feel that?"

So Adelmo felt repulsion for himself, not him, Venantius realised. He tried again, pained by Adelmo's suffering, "Please do not say that. You are not repulsive; you are not. You are..." he hesitated, but Adelmo seemed to shrink inside his arms. "You are the most beautiful being I ever came to know. You made a mistake that is all. No need to punish yourself so hard for it. You may forget it in time."

"No! And venerable Jorge says..." Adelmo trailed off, averting his eyes.

Ah, so this was the source of Adelmo's angst, Venantius thought. That nasty old bat had covered the youth with his grim, bitter words.

"Venerable Jorge can say what he wants. He knows concupiscence far better than you and I, only that his desires are all too different. I used to think that he was moved by the love of knowledge, that he wanted it all to himself, but I came to realise that what he longs for is power, the filthy, dirty power that comes from oppressing others. He does not want knowledge, he fears it in fact."

Every soul has its secrets. Adelmo's were his obsession for the book and another, a dark secret that he hardly acknowledged to himself - he desired men in this world full of men and hypocrisy. Venantius's secrets were simpler, because he had come to terms with them: he knew he loved the boy, that he longed to be in his heart above and before the wretched book and anything else. He was not and the chances for this to happen were slim, but his had always been a lonely life, as every other friar's and he desperately wanted to change that. They lived in the company of hundreds but were not allowed but the shallowest of human contact. He wanted to love and to be loved. He read poems about it the whole day long, he saw it in the dirty, ignorant peasants, he remembered it in his neighbours before he had been sent here, but certainly not in his parents, and he even saw it between some of the brothers, no matter how hard they tried to keep it to themselves.

And he had another secret, one much darker that could lead him to the burning stake. In his life he would only let on this secret to Adelmo, and this was the time. That was all the comfort he could offer.

He could see the shock in Adelmo's stare. Few dared contesting Jorge and especially not in that way, but Venantius had. It should be no surprise: he had come close to clashing with the elder monk several times.

"I imagine that Jorge told you that there was little or no forgiveness for what you have done," Venantius said.

Adelmo shook his head. "I must not speak of it. No one can, it was..."

Venantius bowed his head. Yes, it was a secret, yet another one. Suffocating was the word for this place.

He let a deep sigh travel from his soul to his lips. "I will not ask of you a thing about this, but I must tell you something: there is a world far greater than we know, somewhere in time. This fear is not real, there is nothing to consubstantiate it. One day I believe a man will be only a man, with no need for a God who pries into bedrooms and needs sheep and shepherds."

Adelmo gasped in shock. "You blaspheme. Please stop, do not condemn yourself to make me feel better, because it will not happen. Your words are the proof that the poison of my degradation reaches farther than I could ever imagine."

Venantius's resolve strengthened. "I want God to die. I wish that some day someone will do it, that some one will say loud and clear that these teachings are nothing but chains and blindfolds. If there is a god, let him be one of light and love, not a larger version of bitter, old Jorge.

Adelmo raised his voice in shock. "No! Do not say that!"

Venantius realised he had to stop but this had been growing for so long inside him he could not repress it any longer, not even for Adelmo's sake. "I hate a god who has built us unable to find happiness except in sin. I want him vanished, gone."

Adelmo pressed his lips to Venantius's, in a despaired attempt to make him stop his dangerous ramblings.

Shocked, Venantius's hand ran up Adelmo's back in a caress while the other circled his waistline, drawing him closer in the embrace. He was surprised at the intensity of his reaction to the boy's kiss, but he let it run free. His lips opened under the crush of Adelmo's and he let his tongue persuade the boy's mouth into yielding. That kiss was the bridge he had finally built to reach another and he poured all his love, into it, feeling as if he had been starving all his life until that fulfilling moment.

The kiss changed from persuasive to tentative, tender, loving, as Adelmo gave in too and wrapped his arms around Venantius, pressing him to his chest. Their bodies were the only source of heat in the empty church; they clung to each other as two burning suns, feeding of each other. Adelmo sighed softly into the kiss and in that moment Venantius thought his world could be irreparably shattered by the sheer force of such happiness. He longed for that to happen, for freedom that would never be theirs but his greatest yearning was already his. Slowly he leaned forward until Adelmo was lying with his back on the cold stone floor and he lay on top of him. He could feel the boy gasping under him, his soft, warm breath burning his face, and he could almost believe there was a heaven, here in this moment.

"It was so different, it is so different," he heard Adelmo babble while he trailed kisses from his lips to his jaw, to his ear, to his neck. Desire and love mingled, jealousy once more showed as he was torn between the joy of knowing himself better than Berengar and the repulsion of knowing there could be a comparison at all.

He kissed Adelmo fiercely until all words were wiped from the air between them. His hands fumbled with the heavy, coarse cloth, but neither cold, nor clumsy clothing would stop him from having more skin to taste. Adelmo shivered when Venantius pulled the habit over his head, but took no time in helping spread it beneath him. The warmth trapped between their naked bodies was incredible as was the sight of Adelmo's much lighter skin glowing under his own, permanently tanned although it was never exposed to the sun. The feel of the boy's moist erection pressing against his own almost undid him but after a deep inhalation Venantius struggled to gain control of himself. He continued his kissing down Adelmo's body, letting his scent invade every pore of him. His course was clear, but as he neared Adelmo's weeping length, the boy stopped him. He tried again but once more Adelmo would not let him touch him with his lips.

He looked up, in puzzlement until the mix of pain and shame spread in his friend's face told him. "It was you taking him, was it not?" he asked bitterly.

Adelmo closed his eyes frowning, and turned to his side, curling, hiding his face in his arm. Venantius cursed himself for his stupidity. Both knew Adelmo had been with Berengar, there was no need to keep reminding him. After the shock that came with knowing that detail of the whole sordid affair, he actually felt glad Adelmo's surrender had not been so complete as he had imagined. He reached up and curled behind the boy, once more soothing him with caresses born of his love. Slowly Adelmo relaxed into his embrace and let Venantius proceed with his touching and kissing.

Passion relented to a more tender feeling only for a brief while. Adelmo would not let Venantius touch his erection but he used his own hand, letting the older man cover it. He rubbed his buttocks against Venantius's hips, letting the older man's erection dive further and further into his cleft, until it was trapped between his thighs.

Venantius advanced a leg between Adelmo's, so that he partially lay over the boy. With a grunt Adelmo pushed back. Venantius gasped: he had to be inside Adelmo in that very moment. Worlds depended on it. Reaching for the oil lamp he had carried from the entrance, he dipped his fingers blindly in it. The burn he felt brushing the flame was nothing compared to intensity of the moment he entered Adelmo's body.

He held his breath while the boy moaned, pained. He had been too eager. The tension in Adelmo's body subsided with his caresses and his pleas. It was the boy who started moving in a slow, tentative motion against his body. He tried to withhold but all too soon they were both lost in a haze of whispers and moans.

Venantius could not part his eyes from the beauty of their moving bodies. He felt he had lived his whole life for this moment. All the cold and void of before had been nothing but a point of comparison to this moment of perfection. It seemed to be one of those dreams without a beginning or an ending, spanning indefinitely in time, but he knew it would not last for more than a brief moment. Adelmo gasped under his hands and he knew the end was close, until hot liquid poured into his hand as the body beneath him shuddered. He loathed the thought of parting, but he felt he should have his pleasure soon, now that Adelmo had come to his. He hastened his motions and soon he was spent, tired and happy, wrapped around Adelmo. He pulled his own clothes to cover them and nuzzled his partner affectionately.

The lay there silently, allowing the cold to creep back insidiously into their bodies. Still Adelmo would not move and Venantius refused to take the initiative. After a while he whispered in Adelmo's ear, "What are you thinking of?"

Adelmo took his time, but at last he uttered the words that would poison Venantius's happiness. "I made you sin as well. And doubly, we have stained this holy place. I am nothing but a-"

"You did not make me sin," Venantius cut sharply. "I cannot see this as a sin and even if it were I would do it all gladly all over." He rose in an elbow and forced Adelmo to turn and face him.

"Can you not see that I love you? How good it felt for us to be together? Do you really want to love and obey a God that instils us with this ability to feel, to love and then forbids it? Where are his punishments, after all? Look around you. Do you really think you are the only one who has these preferences? Can you not see it all around you? They are not being punished by the divine anger, the world does not end because one man desires another." Venantius let his free hand caress Adelmo's face but stubbornness shone in each of his features and it would not subside.

"But the afterlife. There will only be pain and sorrow. We will burn down below. This is forbidden," Adelmo insisted.

"There is no up above nor a down below. They are children's fibs meant to scare us into submission."

"Jorge says this is damnation," Adelmo insisted, drawing away from Venantius.

"And is laughter too? And knowledge? Can you truly believe that?" indignation started colouring Venantius words, but he still struggled to temper them with the love he felt.

Adelmo did not answer, but rose and tugged his habit from under Venantius, forcing him to rise too. They dressed in silence and Adelmo took off into the night as soon as he was ready. Venantius sat for a few moments in the cold floor, but then rose and ran to the door of the church only to see him talking with Berengar. Traces of their words reached his ears. Adelmo was arguing desperate as if nothing had passed between them. Venantius had failed. His love was nothing, meant nothing.

Defeated he returned to the church. It was the last time he saw Adelmo alive. He blamed himself for not having seen that Adelmo's despair was so deep it would lead him to suicide, but the boy had looked calm when he had left him, not at all like one who would resort to such a desperate measure. Yet, he should have known better, he should have followed him.

The curiosity he shared with Adelmo for the book had completely vanished now. He would rather have never heard of it, but now it was too late. Still he had a debt of honour to Adelmo. His death would not go to waste.

 

_Finis  
April 2005_


End file.
